


I Fell in Love in the Big Easy

by Tobias_Moore



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Baker Boyd, But I needed a bad guy, Butcher Erica, Fluff, Jazz Music, M/M, Magic!Stiles, New Orleans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter is sick of your shit, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sorry Talia, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles plays the trombone, Supernatural Convention, Teacher Isaac Lahey, The Alpha Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12532220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobias_Moore/pseuds/Tobias_Moore
Summary: After leaving his pack, Peter sets off on a road trip to New Orleans. Drawn towards the music and magic of the Big Easy, he soon finds himself endeared to a quirky little mage with a gift for playing the trombone.OrI'm vacationing in New Orleans and I met this awesome couple who lives next door to the hotel I'm staying at and they have the cutest backstory EVER.If I've left out any tags, let me know!





	1. Peter is Done With Your Shit, Talia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

The Semiannual Supernatural Convention was about as fun as watching paint dry. Sure, there were some good parts to it; the Bazaar always had some interesting magical trinket that would catch Peter’s eye, there was an open stage for a variety of different performances, and the food was as diverse as the people (Peter used that term loosely, _very_ loosely.) who attended, but the real reason behind the convention was the multiple conferences and peace negotiations that took _hours_ out of his otherwise fun vacation time.

 

Peter would rather douse himself in gasoline and set himself on fire than sit through the endless drone of some creature or another about how “The Hunter Association treaty wasn’t fair” or “Just because we eat people doesn’t mean we’re monsters” Or, God forbid, “They won’t open their territory for travelers.” He swore that the whole thing was just made up so that everyone could whine about things that were completely childish and hope that someone would fix their problems for them. the only reason he attended in the first place is because Talia demanded he go.

 

Talia glared at him when he let out a barely audible groan as a group of fairies took to the podium and began complaining about the unfair treatment they had received from a coven of witches. Peter huffed and slumped down in his seat folding his arms over his chest. He received another glare and rolled his eyes over-dramatically letting his head fall back against the back of his chair.

 

Behind him, he could see his sister’s three children. Laura, while attempting to look interested, had begun to pick at her cuticles to occupy her mind. Derek looked like he was three seconds from nodding off before he noticed his uncle staring and snapped to attention. Peter rolled his eyes at his nephew and looked over to the youngest, Cora, who looked back at him and made a motion with her hand imitating shooting herself in the temple. Peter smirked and tried to stifle his laugh earning him a slap on the leg and a low growl from Talia. He grunted at his sister and winked at Cora who had scrunched her face into an ugly sneer at the back of her mother’s head. She grinned at him until Talia turned to glare at them both with a quick flash of red eyes. Cora huffed and rolled her eyes but looked towards the front of the room and pretended to pay attention anyway. Talia turned her attention back to Peter and scowled. He rolled his neck and sat up folding one leg over the other and stared exaggeratedly at the fairies who were _still_ talking. As Talia looked away from him, Peter closed his eyes, dropped his head to his chest and let out a loud snore that got his several glares from surrounding creatures and a hard slap to the back of his head. He grinned as he heard Cora behind him start to giggle loudly behind her hand.

 

After two more hours and countless more grievances the conference was _finally_ over. As soon as the ambassadors stood to shake hands, Peter shot up and ran out of the assembly hall like a bat out of hell. He stayed in the main foyer and waited for Talia to finish with her useless mingling as usual. After a few minutes he started to feel restless and began wandering through the various tables lined with ornaments and other items of the supernatural influence. He had just picked up a large talisman said to ward of pygmies when he caught the scent of Cora just behind him.

 

“God, that was _awful._ ” She groaned as she slung her arm around her uncle’s shoulders. He smiled at her and placed the talisman back on the table turning to where the rest of the Hales were exiting the assembly hall. He let Cora lean into his side and wrapped his arm around her waist.

 

“I know, darling niece. I thought it would never end.” Peter said leaning his head against hers. He smirked at Talia who was walking towards them and turned his head.

 

“Next time, let’s bring small sharp things to throw at people.” He mock-whispered into his niece’s ear. Cora laughed loudly as her mother glowered at the pair.

 

“You two are impossible.” Talia said stopping in front of them with her arms crossed. She grabbed Peter’s arm and dragged him off to an empty corridor away from everyone. “I had to formally apologize to three different packs and the fairy coven for your outburst, Peter. These conferences are important to our pack affiliations and as my second, I expect a certain level of maturity out of you. It’s bad enough that you don’t care about your own image, but now you dare to drag down those of my children and I?”

 

‘ _My children and I_ ’ Peter thought disgustedly at the complete separation from any familiarity.

 

“Please. If I wanted to listen to a bunch of people complaining about how unfair their lives are, I’d spend my time hanging out with Derek and his merry band of idiots.” Peter said waving his hand in Derek’s direction. He ignored the indignant “Hey!” from his nephew.

 

“Besides,” Peter continued. “I may be your second for now, but seeing as Laura will be the next alpha, there’s no need for anyone but the two of you to sit through that never-ending bitch fest. It’s not like you actually treat me as your second, or even acknowledge my opinions for that matter, so why should I have to suffer through your political bullshit and posturing.” Talia’s jaw clenched and her eyes flashed red for a moment, but Peter stood his ground. He was tired of being ignored and treated like the black sheep of the family but still expected to follow along like a devout little soldier.

 

“ _Fine._ ” His sister practically growled at him. “Go find something to do and stay out of trouble, I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” She said flashing her eyes again as she turned to walk away.

 

Peter was done.

 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” Peter scoffed. “Who’s the one doing all of the pack’s dirty work? Who’s the one who has to sit in the shadows and pretend not to exist so that you can keep up the façade of a perfect little alpha? Who’s the one that has to quietly deal with all of your issues because you can’t cope with the possibility that you might _actually_ have to act like a fucking alpha and put your foot down? Instead of dealing with things like you should, you push them off on me and then go around kissing ass like everything’s peachy and then blame all of the pack’s problems on me. I’m sick of your shit, Talia”

 

Peter barely had time to move out of the way of his sister’s hand as she slapped him. As it was he was going to have a nasty cut on his jaw for a while where her claw caught his skin. He growled deeply and readied himself for a fight.

 

“I’m the alpha and you’ll do as I say, _Peter._ ” She spat his name out like it was a bad taste. “If you don’t like it you can leave.”

 

The siblings stood for a long moment growling at each other while the three younger Hales began to back away baring their necks towards their mother and alpha, Cora being the only one brave enough to even _glance_ towards Peter.

 

He was done.

 

Peter straightened and let his features return to normal. He tilted his head in inclination towards Talia and smirked.

 

“I hope you have a wonderful time cleaning up after yourself from now on.” He said calmly. He nodded towards Laura and then to Derek. He turned and bowed deeply towards Cora.

 

“I’m sorry dear children.” He said gesturing towards Talia’s still growling form and turned on his heel and walked away from his former pack and towards an exit at the end of the corridor.

 

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Peter!” Talia yelled.

 

“You said I could leave, that’s what I’m doing.” He said and without turning around waved a good bye. All four of the other Hale’s felt their bond to Peter snap as he let the doors of the community center slam closed behind him.

 

_Done._


	2. Regret is Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long, ramble-y chapter to explain more of Peter's backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

Peter was lost.

 

He looked at the map that was spread across the dashboard, then at his phone where he had a navigational app pulled up, then at the road signs in front of him. None of the three correlated with each other and he was quickly growing annoyed at his phone, the map, and the road (really the whole universe, if he were being honest) for leading him to the middle of Fuckistan USA which was warm and balmy at 105 degrees and 60 percent humidity if his car thermostat was to be trusted. (Honestly, he wouldn't trust anything remotely technological at the moment.)

 

He let out a long-suffering groan as the bright chirpy voice of the app announced that it was recalculating _again_. Peter had never been one to be particularly cruel to electronics, but he was swiftly formulating a terrible accident for his phone. It involved long torturous dredges in water and running it over with his car. Multiple times.

 

"In a quarter mile, make a legal U-turn." The cheery voice instructed.

 

"I'm at a standstill on a dirt path to nowhere, you worthless piece of shit." He growled at the device. He tried glaring it into submission and was rewarded with another happy chirp of "recalculating."

 

"Fuck it!" He yelled throwing the worthless thing out of his window. He slammed his fists down on the steering wheel and let out a low growl. He rested his forehead against the wheel and silently seethed.

 

"Uh, you all right sir?" Peter was startled out of his rage by a knock on his window. He hadn't even noticed another presence in his anger at all things electronic. His senses had weakened since leaving his pack. A lot more than he’d realized, apparently.

 

He pressed the button to roll his window down completely and smiled wearily at the stranger. He was a tall, older man, with soft blue eyes and a kind but weathered face. The man smelled of dirt and flowers, as if he had just finished planting something. Peter smiled a little more genuinely when he noticed the man’s scent conveying slight apprehension.

 

"Sorry, I'm just a little lost is all. I've been driving around for hours trying to figure out where I am, and that horrible thing is useless." Peter explained scowling at where he pointed to the small device. The man smiled in sympathy letting out a quiet huff and bent to pick up the (now broken) phone. Peter relaxed a bit when the man’s scent bled calm, like soft rain and clean linens.

 

"Yeah, I’m horrible with technology too. Name's John. I own that farm down the way." The man said gesturing down the path with Peter's phone. Peter smiled as he took the phone from the man when it was offered.

 

"It's nice to meet you John, I'm Peter." He said extending his other hand out the window. John took it in a firm grip and shook quickly.

 

"So, Peter, where you headed?" John asked folding his arms in a smooth movement that portrayed comfortable ease rather than annoyance. His scent became thicker with the calming smell of rain and soft linen.

 

"New Orleans."

 

"All right. I'm headed that way myself. It’s a drive but I can get my truck and you can follow if you want." John said fishing some keys out of his jeans. Peter nodded and watched as the man walked down the road. A few short minutes later, a big white truck rolled up the path. John stopped for a second and motioned with his hand for Peter to follow.

 

_A man of few words_ Peter thought lightly.

 

After two hours of driving Peter found himself being led into the outskirts of the Big Easy. John pulled to another lane of the highway to turn towards some industrial buildings and shot Peter a quick smile and a wave. Peter waved back in thanks and continued down the main road into the city. He turned off the highway into a large residential area to explore.

 

New Orleans was a big city that refused to forget it's small town past. There were people walking with their kids, a few groups of people who had set up tables for chess, and it wouldn't be New Orleans without the constant sound of music floating through the streets. Peter slowed to a stop along the curb and watched some kids playing basketball on the street corner. They were laughing and having fun with no care that they were in the street. Peter sighed as he thought of his sister’s children who were never _allowed_ to be that care free.

_“Children, stop that nonsense. We have a reputation to uphold, and I’ll not have you running around like a bunch of untamed curs.”_

 

Talia had scolded Laura and Derek endlessly from the time they were toddlers until she had finally made poor Laura as neurotic as she was, and Derek into the emotionally constipated shell of a man he was today. Cora was the only child that wasn’t an emotional wreck.

 

After James had left Talia (shocker there) she deemed her youngest (and the one who most resembled her ex-husband’s care-free attitude) a loss and ignored her in favor of sculpting her oldest daughter and only son into the alpha and second that would do her lineage proud.  While her mother was busy flaunting her “perfect” siblings around to other packs, Cora would sneak away to Peter’s apartment and they’d sit around watching terrible television and eating all kinds of junk that Peter was happy to supply his favorite niece with.

 

Peter sighed at the pain that began to blossom in his chest any time he thought about the young beta. It had been two months since he’d cut ties with his sister and, subsequently, Cora. Two months since he quit his job and packed up his life in California. Two months of driving across the southwestern part of the US trying to forget everything that he had left behind.

 

He often wondered if she was okay or if her mother had taken out her anger at him on the youngest Hale. Talia had never been one to accept her own guilt. She would have to greet the blame of her imperfections, now that her scape goat was gone. Unless, of course, she’d found someone else to steer it towards. Peter gripped his steering wheel tightly and closed his eyes, trying and failing to will his guilt away.

_Hell, is living in regret._

 

He watched the young group of kids for a few more minutes before pulling forward slowly and lightly tapping his horn when they didn’t seem to realize he was there. The kids jumped at the sound then ran onto the sidewalk. Peter, now that he was closer to the group, could pinpoint a few ‘Weres and (surprisingly) a Fae child or two. He grinned widely and honked again at the kids who were waving enthusiastically towards a complete stranger.

 

An hour or so later, Peter found himself driving towards the French Quarter. He decided to park and walk around after getting a bite to eat. He walked slowly down the street listening to the city move around him in the waning hours of the evening. There was smooth jazz coming from a street corner, a bouncy rendition of some classic ballads a few blocks down, and the sound of talking and laughing filled the spaces in between.

 

Peter smiled and nodded quick hellos to the friendly people that waved and greeted him as they passed. Underneath all the sensations he could feel the magic of the city thrumming in his bones with each step. Each beat of the nonexistent heart was like balm on the scars of his own.

 

This is why he chose to come here. Louisiana, the true birthplace of magical culture in America. Sure, Salem, New York, and even San Francisco all had claims to their own magical beginnings, but nothing compared to the deep-rooted soul of the Big Easy and its surrounding bayous. It was like the city itself was alive and humming with untapped magical potential.

 

Peter stopped on the curb of the sidewalk and inhaled deeply, allowing his power and strength to bleed into his surroundings and sighed happily when he felt the push of strength that was returned to him. It gave Peter a sense of power to stand in the heart of the city and just _feel._

Peter continued walking and found himself among a crowd which had gathered around some street performers that were putting on a show of acrobatics mixed with modern dance moves. There was a vibrant young woman and a curly haired young man who were about a foot shorter than the large man they danced around. He watched for a while and applauded as the group ended their show with a small three-person pyramid. He grinned at the young performers as he was dropping a few bills into the large bowl that sat a few feet away from the bowing trio.

 

“Hey, thanks man!” The girl called to him. She was the smallest of the group with wild blonde curls and bright eyes.

 

“Yeah man, thanks. You’re one cool cat.” The tall, dark skinned man said grinning. Peter smiled back and waved the thanks off.

 

“You guys have a good night.” Peter said turning to walk away.

 

“And you have a better one!” The other man called out to him as he made his way down the street again. His smile was wide and joyful as he waved to Peter. He couldn’t help but smile back before continuing down the street.

 

Peter decided to do a little window shopping before everything closed for the night. In one shop he found a little glass wolf who appeared to be sleeping, and in another he found a little plush wolf clinging on to an oversized fleur de lis symbol.

 

As he was walking past another shop he saw a T-shirt hanging in the window. It was such an ordinary and innocuous thing, but it made Peter’s chest tighten and his heart hurt. He stepped towards the window as he read the simple saying again for the thousandth time in the last few seconds.

 

_‘My uncle went to New Orleans, and all I got was this shirt’_

And just like that, his good mood had vanished.

 

Peter felt like crying for the first time in years over a stupid tourist’s t-shirt. It was idiotic but a small voice in his head kept whispering that even if he wanted to, he could never see Cora again. Talia would never allow it. The part that hurt the most was that he _did_ want to see her again.

 

Ever since he was a child, Peter had been the outcast of the family. He was born when Talia was 13 and already on her way to becoming the next alpha. By the time he was old enough to even understand what the pack roles really meant, Talia was about to give birth to the next alpha in line. He’d been born too late. Everything sort of skipped over him. Power, rank, even his parents’ love had passed him by.

 

Too busy fawning over their oldest daughter and new grandchild, his parents would often forget that Peter was there. Unless he got in trouble. That was the only time he seemed to receive any of their attention. Peter began acting out and getting into as much trouble as he could at school just so that his parents would acknowledge his existence occasionally instead of his “perfect” sister and her quickly growing family. When that stopped working, he threw himself head first into academics and other school activities in the hopes that he might impress his family, even a little.

 

Peter grew to hate his family, and by the time he entered high school, he had become completely numb to the radio silence and almost robotic “That’s nice, honey” or “Yeah, that’s great Peter” that he received from his family. He became withdrawn and cold towards them and even then, it took them years until they realized something was wrong and by then he’d already begun to break bonds with them little by little, feeling them fade away slowly each day.

 

And then James left, and Talia moved her family back in with their parents. Peter found so much comradery in Cora that he’d clung onto her almost as much as she had to him. He’d sworn that he wouldn’t let her become the jaded, anti-social, monster that he’d let himself become. When Talia started to ignore her, he would take her out for the day and shower her in all the love and attention that he’d never gotten, and Peter would receive the same in return.

 

Even after Talia had turned him into the left hand of the pack, Cora still adored him. She didn’t care when he carried out Talia’s bidding with a bit too much aggression, and he didn’t care when she fell below the impossible standard that was set before her by her mother. He helped her find a voice among the crowd. The love and support that he shared with his niece was palpable. It made them _thrive._

Peter shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat as he walked away from the shop and back toward his car.

 

_Hell, is living in regret_

 

As Peter made his way towards the almost empty parking lot he heard a long faint sound that seemed to be coming from a horn. The tone ended, and more music filled the air. The song was slow and almost sad. A perfect soundtrack to Peter’s current mood. He abandoned his path and followed the tune to a street corner where the musician sat on a small stool.

 

Peter was struck by the appearance of the boy. He was dressed in red skinny jeans, battered converse, a baggy t-shirt and a plaid flannel that was rolled up to show strong forearms dotted in moles. The boy’s hair was disheveled, and his eyes were closed lightly behind thick framed glasses as he played. More moles spotted his face and long neck, and the boy was so pale that he seemed to _glow_ under the street lights as he swayed to the music coming from his trombone.

 

The song which had, at first, seemed sad was downright mournful. But there was so much _soul_ in it. It wasn’t a tune that Peter recognized (not that he really listened to jazz anyway) but it was so familiar in feeling that he couldn’t help but listen to it. Each note was like the boy had taken a piece of his heart and thrown it out for the world to hear.

 

Peter stood, enraptured by artist and art, until the song came to a slow end. As the music faded completely, Peter looked around to see that a crowd had, unsurprisingly, gathered around the enchanting young man. When the boy lowered his horn from his (plush, pink) lips and opened his eyes there was a spark of _something_ that seemed to jolt from him.

 

_A spark perhaps?_ Peter thought

 

He smiled and blushed beautifully at the applause that he received. Peter was too stunned to clap along. The boy had seemed so _ethereal_ while playing. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off him.

 

As the boy was looking around, his eyes stopped on Peter and he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. Peter swallowed hard at the sight of whiskey eyes and looked away as nonchalantly as he could manage. As he began to walk away, knowing that he should steer clear of anything supernatural until he could navigate the area without attracting unwanted attention, Peter was drawn back by a woman’s voice.

 

“Hey, ‘Bone Daddy, swing that groove my way.” Peter vaguely recognized the voice and turned to see the three performers from earlier coming towards the boy. The dark man carried over a large plastic pail while the other two seemed content to watch. The boy grinned widely at the man and began playing an upbeat tune to which the man quickly joined in with steady thumps against his pail.

 

The music was so different from before. It was lively and happy but still beautiful and soulful. Still, Peter felt that the moment he’d had (not really) with the bespectacled young man was over and, after listening for most of the song, decided again to leave. As he was walking away, he turned back towards the boy and was shocked when his eyes met glowing, molten honey ones. The boy winked and grinned behind the mouthpiece of his trombone and Peter was struck by the scent of magic that poured off the boy in waves.

 

As the song ended the boy quickly handed his instrument towards the dark man and ran up to Peter smiling shyly, but gently.

 

“Hi there, you must be new in town, I’m Stiles.” The boy said holding out his hand. Peter had a moment of indecision. He really should lay low for a while. At least until he had better knowledge of the creatures in the area. But…

 

“I’m Peter.”

_Hell, is living in regret_


	3. Go Away (You're Driving Me Nuts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait. I just got back from vacation and work has been hell. I've also re-written this chapter like seven times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

Peter was going insane.

 

After his first initial meeting with Stiles, Peter had scolded himself for his lack of judgement, and tried to avoid the supernatural scene whenever possible. He had gotten himself a nice, normal job at a local law office, a normal, if not a bit luxurious, apartment in a quiet (at least, as quiet as New Orleans got) part of town, and had avoided the French Quarter like the plague. Every time he drove by, his mind instantly strayed towards the young man with glowing honey eyes and pale skin.

 

Peter had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he was reminded of the musician and his songs which could drop Peter’s defenses without warning. It made his skin itch when he thought of how vulnerable he had allowed himself to become under the young man’s electric gaze. How easily the boy had approached him, and how easily Peter had _let_ him.

 

Peter couldn’t stand the fact that, after everything he’d done to ensure distance from anyone who didn’t serve him a purpose, he’d let his guard down towards a complete _stranger._ Any thought of the boy made Peter’s hackles rise, and so he avoided all the places where the boy might have been. It worked for a few days until Peter realized the one thing he didn’t plan for.

 

Stiles was _everywhere._

The boy first appeared at the grocery store while Peter was stocking his fridge. Peter was in the middle of the bread aisle when he caught the scent of cinnamon, honey, and _magic._ His mind shut down and Peter was helpless to follow his nose. As he rounded the corner he was caught off guard by the sight of the lanky boy flailing around while chatting with an employee about the ingredients in processed meat.

 

He was dressed in all black (which made the moles on his pale arms and neck stand out) save for the flannel that Peter had seen him wear before. Peter stood there for a while, enthralled by the boy’s gesturing, until and elderly woman grunted at him impatiently to move out of her way. Peter fought a blush as he apologized and steered his cart quickly to the side. His wolf bristled at the realization that he’d completely forgotten his surroundings in favor of watching the boy and he glared down at his hands trying to ground himself. When he looked up, Stiles was waving and walking towards him. Peter all but ran away from the boy and it wasn’t until he got home that he realized that he’d left his cart sitting there in the aisle.

 

The next encounter was while Peter was on his morning run. The air was quiet as he ran along the narrow pathways that surrounded a nearby swamp area. It was too early for anyone to be out, even the hardcore athletes and early joggers would still be waking up at this time, so Peter allowed himself to unwind as he ran. He could feel his stress melt away as his feet pounded the ground. His wolf was aching to be let loose and run through the marshes and Peter was about to abandon the path for a more secluded route through the trees until he ran into something. Well, some _one._

 

“Ouch, dude, that hurt!” Exclaimed the person who Peter had knocked down. He rolled his eyes and was about to make a snarky comment about watching where you’re going, but was stopped in his tracks when he looked down.

 

Stiles was laying on the pavement rubbing his arm through his track suit. The boy had ditched his glasses and Peter could see his eyes clearly as they glowed up at him. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of cinnamon and sweat that flowed seamlessly with the scent of electricity that Peter had associated with the boy’s magic. His hair was unrulier than before as if someone had been gripping it in random clumps and _tugging_. Sweat ran down the boy’s face, collecting on his cupid’s bow before tracking down to his chin and along his neck and Peter suddenly wondered if it would taste like honey if he followed the trail with his tongue. His mind reeled at the thought and Peter did the first thing he could think of and bolted.

 

Peter ran into Stiles again and again. At a coffee shop, at the mall, at the hardware store, everywhere. It seemed that Peter couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing (or _smelling_ ) the young man and it was driving him crazy. The feeling that burned low in his stomach every time made it worse. (Peter refused any further inspection of the sensation.) He resigned himself to only going out when necessary and had been able to evade the boy for almost a week.

 

\--------

 

Peter grumbled as he got out of bed and walked to the door where someone was about to be eviscerated for pounding on it at this hour. He growled as he swung it open and the sharp “What?!” died in his throat as he took in the sight of Stiles dressed in his usual skinny jeans and flannel smiling widely at him from the hallway. The scent of honey and excitement filled Peter’s nose and he could _feel_ the magic pulsing around the young boy.

 

“Finally! Dude, I’ve been standing out there for, like, ages.” Stiles said as he started to barge past Peter into the apartment. Peter was so stunned that he simply stepped aside to let the boy in. Stiles whistled lowly in amazement as he walked around the living room.

 

“Nice digs, man.” He said as he ran his hand along the back of Peter’s couch leaving behind the scent of what Peter could only describe as lightning. His wolf become rigid at the thought of this intruder in his home.

 

“What? What are you doing here? How- how do you even know where I live?” Peter asked incredulously. This was insane, the boy was in his den, touching things, _scenting_ things. Peter was _letting_ the boy scent things.

 

This was insane.

 

 _He_ was insane.

 

“Hmm? Oh, that.” Stiles said as he drew his attention from Peter’s bookshelf back to the man. He grinned widely and let out a snort of laughter at Peter’s awestruck face.

 

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for _weeks_ , dude. I was tired of you running away, so I snuck a peek at your credit card when you were paying for your coffee the other day and I hacked into the post office database to get your address. I figured if I caught you at home, you wouldn’t bolt.” Stiles explained all this in a nonchalant tone and shrugged when he finished as if this was a normal conversation to be having at three in the morning. As if he didn’t just admit to committing a felony to a god damned _lawyer._

If it had happened to anyone else, Peter might feel impressed at the boy’s resourcefulness. But, as it stood, that resourcefulness was being used to destroy Peter’s plan at having a normal (Hah.) life. Still, Peter couldn’t help but be a _little_ impressed.

This was _insane._

Peter stood and watched in a daze as Stiles turned back to the shelves and pulled out a book to flip through. He swallowed as he watched the boy’s long fingers skim over the pages. His wolf rumbled somewhere deep in the back of his mind when he thought about what the nimble digits were capable of. Right, he was supposed to be angry.

 

“Again, what are you doing here?” Peter growled and flashed his eyes, hoping he’d scare the boy away. His efforts were rewarded with another snort and an eyeroll that would make even Cora jealous. Peter tampered down the guilt that rose in his chest and glared harder.

 

“Please.” The boy drawled as he snapped the book closed and put it back on the shelf, just to pull another down.

 

“I’m not afraid of you, or your blue eyes. Especially when you look like that.” The boy paused to do a slow once over of Peter. He looked down at himself and realized that he probably did kind of look ridiculous in his wrinkled silk pajama pants and his, doubtlessly, fluffy bed head standing barefoot growling at the boy like a pup who’d been woken up early from a nap.

 

Peter was about to tell the boy to get the fuck out when he noticed that Stiles’ gaze had stalled on his bare chest and he could smell arousal creeping into the boy’s scent. Peter’s wolf growled lowly and he wondered again what Stiles would taste like until the boy absentmindedly licked his lips. _Fuck_.

 

This was insane.

 

He growled and lunged forward to snatch the book from Stiles. He took small pride in the flinch he received. After putting the book back in its place, he snapped his head towards the boy who was running his fingers along the mantle.

 

“Dude, when’s the last time you dusted this place?” The boy asked absently as he smoothed his hand across the surface and wiped the dust on his pants. Peter smacked his arm away when he began to do it again.

 

“Quit touching things.” Peter snapped at him. The boy was already an annoying buzz in the back of his mind, the last thing Peter needed was his scent all over his home. Stiles fixed the man with an unimpressed stare and folded his arms across his chest.

 

“Why are you here Stiles?” Peter asked squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. He just wanted the boy to leave so he could get back to avoiding him and the feelings that Peter should _not_ be feeling. When he opened his eyes again the boy was looking at him in slight amazement.

 

“What?” Peter snapped again.

 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name.” Stiles explained. Peter growled again and hoped that the boy wouldn’t be able to tell that it was less out of anger this time and more in reaction to the blush and spike of arousal from the boy. Peter’s imagination quickly leaped into thoughts about shoving the boy against a wall to see if he could make him blush harder.

 

“Get. Out.” Peter seethed. He needed the boy gone. Now. Before his traitorous mind could come up with any more scenarios in which Peter could receive the same reaction from the boy. When he didn’t move, Peter grabbed stiles by the arm and began to haul him across the room towards the door.

 

“Hey! Okay, wait a second!” Stiles exclaimed trying to pull his arm away. Peter stopped but didn’t let the boy go. He soundly told himself that it was to stop him from touching anything else and _not_ because he liked the feeling of warmth that radiated from the boy.

 

“Well?” Peter snapped.

 

“Like I said, I’ve been trying to talk to you since we first met but you kept running away.” Stiles mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck.

 

“About?” Peter led. Stiles cleared his throat and looked away causing Peter to sigh in aggravation. Stiles cleared his throat again and huffed.

 

“Look, this is going to sound stupid and stuff.” Stiles hesitated before looking at Peter. “So, just hear me out. Please?”

 

Peter rolled his eyes and let the boy go. He took a step back and folded his arms before nodding at the boy and waving his hand to get him to continue. Stiles shuffled a bit before shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a deep breath.

 

“So, I’m a mage and I have these cool abilities and shit, right? Like, sensing magic, making things grow, shooting sparks out of my hands, protective shields and stuff. Which, is totally awesome and shit.” Stiles explained as he pulled his hands from his pockets and waved them around.

 

“The only problem is, I can also do stuff like manipulate feelings and boost other people’s abilities. I usually try to keep it a secret but, somehow, word got out and now I guess there’s this pack trying to, I dunno, collect me or something?” He sounded uncertain and hesitated before continuing.

 

“A-anyway, when I saw you, I could feel your wolf and I just figured since you’re the only werewolf I’ve met outside of that pack that you're an omega and I got excited because I thought that maybe you could help me get these guys off my back or something?” He chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head looking down at his converse.

 

“So, what I guess I’m saying is that I need a favor?”  He looked hopefully towards Peter who was staring at him with mild confusion.

 

 _Why the hell would I help him? I hardly know him._ Peter thought. Stiles let out a long exhale and locked eyes with Peter.

 

“Have you ever heard of the alpha pack?”

 

This was insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update sooner now that I'm back on a normal schedule. Thanks for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos, guys. You are all so amazing.


	4. The Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually had to re-write most of this chapter. I want this to be mostly humor and fluff with just a tiny bit of angst but in my first version of this it got REALLY dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

_“Have you ever heard of the alpha pack?”_

Everything went still for less than a second as Peter processed the words that had just left the boy’s mouth.

 

A heartbeat was all the time it took before Peter had the boy slammed against the wall. His clawed hand was gripped firmly around Stiles’ throat holding him a foot off the floor. Peter could feel his fangs drop as the shift quickly overtook his face and his wolf overtook his mind.

 

“They’re _here?!”_ He snarled at the boy as the memory of Cora being kidnapped by a man with milky red eyes flashed through his mind. His stomach turned at the thought of Deucalion and his followers.

 

“I. Take it. You’ve. Met them.” The boy gasped out as he tried to pull Peter’s hand loose. Peter growled lowly and tightened his grip, ignoring the boy, as his mind swam through memories of finding Cora beaten almost to death in the freezing cold basement of an abandoned warehouse and the helplessness he felt when her wounds refused to heal at first.

 

“What do you know about them?!” Peter demanded, slurring through his fangs. Stiles gasped harder and smacked Peter’s arm in panic. Peter roared at the boy when he didn’t answer and slammed him against the wall again.

 

“Can’t. Breathe.” The boy wheezed out as he thrashed his body trying to loosen Peter’s grip. Stiles’ eyes glowed bright orange as he placed his hand firmly on Peter’s bicep. Peter was pulled out of his crazed state by the feeling of intense electricity coursing through his veins and making his heart feel as though it had been stabbed. He snarled again but when he looked up, Peter’s eyes went wide at the realization that he was strangling the boy.

 

Peter dropped the boy quickly and watched as he landed on his knees and hunched into a ball. Stiles wheezed and coughed as he gratefully sucked in large gulps of air. Peter felt sick as he flashed back to Cora’s battered, half shifted body, hunched over much like Stiles’, as she wheezed and fought to bring air into her lungs. Her body was covered in bruises and she laid in a pool of her own blood as she tried to hold the gaping claw marks on her abdomen closed.

 

Peter had rushed over to her and held her close to his chest. He sat there crying in pain for his beloved niece for _hours_ , praying that she would heal and only let her go long enough to stand when he was certain that she’d stopped bleeding before pulling her off the floor and carrying her back to his apartment. It was the first of many nights that Peter had stayed awake holding her tightly and drawing as much pain as he could stand (And maybe a little more) from her.

 

Peter snapped and his face towards the warm hand on his shoulder that pulled him from his daze and growled. Stiles let out a small squeak and tore his hand away as if Peter were on fire. Peter took a breath and willed his features back to normal with a bit of difficulty.

 

“Sorry. You were kind of going crazy there?” Stiles said apprehensively while looking extremely guilty for touching the man. “Are you okay?”

 

“I suppose that I should be the one asking that question.” Peter replied, after clearing his throat. He took note of the rasp in Stiles’ voice and eyed the bruises that where quickly forming on the boy’s neck. Peter knew he should feel guilty, but damn if the thought of his mark on the boy wasn’t doing things to him.

 

“Oh, I’m okay. Happens all the time.” Stiles said as he grinned cheekily at Peter. “I might have some pretty cool abilities but, let’s be honest, my one true super power is that I can get on people’s nerves like no one’s business.”

 

“I couldn’t tell.” Peter snorted sarcastically. He smirked at the boy’s sudden laughter and resisted the urge to tell the boy just how many and which of Peter’s nerves he’d been getting on. Or which ones Peter _wanted_ Stiles on. He shook his head and tried to get back on track.

 

“So, the alpha pack.” Peter said as the young mage straightened his shirt. The boy looked at him and smiled a hopeful little smile that made Peter’s stomach turn pleasantly.

 

“You said you needed a favor?”

\----

 

Stiles’ apartment was just a ten-minute drive from Peter’s and sat right outside the edge of town in an old building that looked like it should have been condemned long ago. The mage had disappeared off toward one of the two rooms with the promise that he was just getting something and would be right back leaving Peter to stand awkwardly in the living room.

 

He could make out three heart beats aside from Stiles’ and his own. The scents that saturated the place identified the others as the trio of acrobats that Peter had seen Stiles with. His wolf seemed to settle a bit when he noticed that the only supernatural creature here was Stiles. He still felt uneasy, being in unknown territory and all. He tried to figure out what kind of people Stiles and his friends where by their home but ended up more confused than anything.

 

The apartment was, in a word, eccentric.

 

There were talismans and various wards hanging next to about a dozen different picture frames on the walls of the small living room that Peter stood in. There was a bright green bean bag chair next to the long, burnt orange couch that sat along the wall along with a few small stools that stood stacked in the corner. Peter cocked his head inquisitively at the large ornate wood coffee table that easily took up half of the room. He refused to look down at the neon pink rug that sat under it for more than a few seconds, for fear that his eyes would melt out of his face.

 

“Don’t worry, we all hate it too.” Peter heard a familiar deep voice and stopped glaring toward the offensive mat. He looked up to see the dark-skinned acrobat walking out of what he assumed was the kitchen with a hand towel slung over his shoulder. He smelled like rich earth and something sweet like cookies or cake.

 

“I’m Boyd by the way. One of Stiles’ roommates.” The man explained as he walked over to the large metal rack that held too many books and leaned to one side. He pulled out what looked to be a cook book, nodded to Peter, and returned to the kitchen before Peter could respond.

 

_Odd._

“Boyd! I’m hungry. Can you make me something before we go?” Peter tuned to the hallway as the young woman walked out of one of the rooms dressed in nothing but a long t-shirt, that reeked of the man she was whining at, despite her fully done make up and styled hair. She was pouting towards the kitchen where he heard Boyd shout “No, Erica.”

 

Under the man’s scent he could smell spice, like freshly cut ginger, and something medical. He almost growled at the underlying smell of blood. When she noticed Peter’s presence, her pout turned into a wild grin that made Peter want to bare his teeth. He fought back his shift as the girl leaned against a wall.

 

“Hi, you’re Peter, right?” She asked looking him over. He nodded. He didn’t say anything for fear that he might shift and fought the urge to squirm under her gaze. He’d put on some actual clothes before leaving his home with Stiles but felt a thousand times more exposed by her gaze than he had with Stiles’. He didn’t like it.

 

“I’m Erica.” She said after a satisfied nod. She smiled, warmly this time, then promptly turned around and shut the bedroom door behind her as she retreated.

 

_What?_

“Guys, have you seen my-” Peter looked over to watch the shouting young man walk out of the other room to look frantically around before pulling a large three ring binder from where it seemed to have fallen behind the couch. “never mind, I found it!” He shouted to the house. He was grinning as he leafed through the pages, seemingly unaware of the intruder in his home. The boy smelled of children, grass, and leather, and Peter didn’t know what to think about that combination. The boy startled when he looked up from his binder.

 

“Who are you?” He asked snapping the binder closed. Before Peter could answer, Boyd came into the room carrying three large baker’s boxes filled with what smelled like sugary heaven.

 

“That’s Peter.” The man explained as he set the boxes on the large table and walked towards the bedroom Erica was in.

 

“Oh, hello then. I’m Isaac.” The boy said smiling cheerfully. Peter opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted again as Stiles _finally_ came back out of the second room he’d seen Isaac come out of. He'd ditched his flannel and had replaced his glasses, and Peter was pleased to see that the boy's arms were toned under all of the layers he wore.

 

“Hey, you guys are going to be late!” He shouted to house at large as he carried a laptop and a large book over to the coffee table. Peter tilted his head and got a glimpse of runes and what looked like Gaelic drawings on the front cover of the book.

 

“All right, ready.” Erica said as she walked out of the room dressed in a simple blue dress and low heels. Boyd came out behind her dressed in a black button down and jeans. Erica walked over to where Stiles had sat down and set up his computer, and hugged him with one arm.

 

“You guys have fun.” He said as he returned the gesture. Something unpleasant turned in his chest at the sight but the moment was over before he could really analyze the feeling. (Not that he wanted to.)

 

“It was nice to finally meet you, Peter.” Erica said as she passed him to walk out the door followed by the two men who gave Peter friendly nods. Quiet seemed to emanate from everywhere as the bustle of the three humans dissipated.

 

_What?_

Peter heard a snort of laughter and looked over to where Stiles was looking at him over the frames of his glasses.

 

“You okay, wolfman?” The mage asked as he arched a brow.

 

Peter didn’t know where to start.

 

Last night he went to bed with mild irritation at the young man who was now looking at him in mock worry and had no clue that he would be woken up at an ungodly hour just to be emotionally drained, overwhelmed by three strangers who seemed to know more about him than he was comfortable with, and seriously questioning his life choices a few short hours later because he decided that it would be a brilliant idea to follow along with the whims of a young mage who’d been plaguing his every waking moment for the past _month_ because said mage had a plan (that Peter had yet to hear anything about) to take down the most ruthless pack in North America.

 

No. He wasn’t _okay._

“I’m fine.” Peter lied with practiced ease. Stiles rolled his eyes and returned to staring at the screen in front of him. Peter walked over and sat as far away from Stiles as he could manage. He tried to lean over to see what the boy was doing but Stiles’ hands moved too quickly over the keys for Peter to even begin to guess what he was typing from this angle.

 

“Sorry about them.” He said after a few minutes. “They’re crazy and a little intense sometimes, but they’re good friends and they don’t judge.” Peter nodded in understanding. He had somewhat of the same relationship with his niece. He was crazy, she was intense, no judgement. Peter cleared his throat at the thought and tried to find something to break the silence that didn’t seem natural in Stiles’ presence.

 

“Erica smelled like blood.” Was the first thing that came out of his mouth and he would have mentally berated himself for his lack of tact if it weren’t for Stiles’ shout of laughter.

 

He looked over to see that the boy had thrown his head back in joy as his body shook with mirth. Peter’s eyes instantly zeroed in on a cluster of three little moles that laid on the juncture of Stiles’ shoulder and neck and he had to fight his shift as he resisted the urge to lick and _bite._

 

“She works at a butcher’s shop.” Stiles explained as he let out a few chuckles. When the boy looked away after giving him a small smirk Peter realized that he missed the noise. It was loud and raucous, but it still soothed something savage in Peter to know that he’d caused the boy so much joy.

 

“And Isaac?” Peter asked with a small twitch in his lips. “Why does he smell like children and _leather?”_ Stiles’ eyes went wide at the obvious implications in Peter’s tone before he dropped his head in his hands and started to laugh louder than before. By the time Peter had started to chuckle along, the boy was gasping for air with tears in his eyes. His glasses were askew, and Peter could see the, almost there, glow of magic in his eyes.

 

“Oh. My. _God.”_ Stiles gasped out between laughs. He was clenching his stomach and Peter took pleasure in the blush that had spread from Stiles’ cheek bones down to where it disappeared under his shirt. He wondered just how much of that pale, pale, skin was now flushed red from Peter’s words. He wondered for the second time if he could recreate the situation with other tactics. Peter was saved from his imagination when Stiles’ began to speak again.

 

“He- He’s a guidance” The boy stopped to let out a few more giggles. “A guidance counselor but” A few more. “But he rides a motorcycle.” The boy tried to clear his throat and wipe his eyes, but when he looked over to Peter he dissolved into a fit of honest to god _giggles._

_Fuck, this kid is cute._

 

After a few deep breaths, Stiles cleared his throat again and straightened his glasses.

 

“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Stiles said grinning wickedly at Peter before turning back to his computer. Peter snorted before fixing Stiles with a blank expression.

 

“I would say you have good taste, but you literally live with a butcher, a baker, and a guidance counselor.” He couldn’t fight the wild grin as Stiles fell off the couch wailing with laughter.


	5. Binding and Shifting (Literally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Plan...
> 
> Also, Toby watches too much Being Human. Sorry. (Not sorry.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

Peter had dozed off at some point while listening to Stiles type and mutter at his computer. As hideous as the couch was, it was almost as comfortable as the one he’d spent a small fortune on at home. He was startled out of his sleep when Stiles let out a loud whooping noise.

 

“I found it!” The boy exclaimed as he fist-pumped the air. Peter Looked over to the boy with an arched brow as he shoved the laptop towards him.

 

“See? There, right there.” Stiles said excitedly as he pointed to the screen. Peter noted the multiple tabs that had been pulled up and what looked to be an insanely difficult proxy that Stiles had either set up or hacked. He took the computer and began to read the web page.

 

“To strip an alpha of his power, create a mixture of…” Peter paused as he realized what it was he was reading. He snapped his head towards the mage who was vibrating in eagerness.

 

“Stiles. You want to strip Deucalion of his alphahood?” He asked incredulously. This was crazy, and way beyond any power that Stiles could possibly possess. Stiles nodded frantically and reached for the large tome (which was actually a spell book as Peter had discovered) that sat open on the table.

 

“I figured that, since I’m able to amplify power, I should, in theory, be able to diminish it, right? If I can do that, then all I need you to do is distract them long enough for me to strip their powers and then you’d be able to take them out easily.” The boy explained. Peter tried not to feel pride at the fact that Stiles thought he could take out a full pack of wolves, diminished powers or not.

 

He really did.

 

Peter took the book from Stiles and looked to where he’d turned the page to a spell to inverse power. The spell looked complicated and a little impossible, but Stiles was beaming, and Peter could practically taste the satisfaction that rolled smoothly into Stiles’ scent. Peter looked from the book to the screen and back again before sighing and turning his head to the mage.

 

“How do we know if it will even work?” People often told Peter that he was a pessimist, but he liked to think of himself as a realist. The plan was good, he’d give the boy that, but it was all based on theory. Even if Stiles _could_ invert his powers, the alpha pack was stronger than any other pack Peter had ever seen, and it was doubtful that the boy’s magic would work on them.

 

“Well, I was thinking we could test it.” The boy mumbled as he began to squirm a bit. Peter cocked an eyebrow at him and tried to figure out what the boy meant by- oh.

 

“Wait. You want to test this on _me_?” Peter asked skeptically. “I’m not an alpha, Stiles. I don’t even have a pack. I’m an _omega_. Remember?” He spat out the word like a bad taste. It was bad enough that he didn’t have a family anymore but the loss of power and stability that had come with it was almost torturous. Like slowly losing his sanity piece by piece.

 

“I know that.” The boy scoffed. He grabbed the book and flipped through some pages then handed the book over to show Peter a spell to transfer power.

 

“If I can boost your abilities, like, seriously boost them, I could try to reduce the boost. Of course, it wouldn’t really work if I just gave you a boost and take it away, so…” He tapped the page and smiled slyly. “This spell will actually take some of my power and give it to you. Permanently. Or, at least until I figure out how to invert my own powers.” Peter scrunched his eyebrows and read the spell in his head. He looked at the mage who was staring at him impatiently.

 

“It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought.” He said as he handed the book back.

 

“I’ve been working on this plan since I figured out you were an omega.” Stiles explained distractedly as he began to jot something down on a piece of paper.

 

“And if I hadn’t agreed to help you?” Peter asked. Really, it was presumptuous of the boy to just plan this out before Peter even knew he was part of those plans.

 

“I may not be very persuasive, but I am persistent. And I’m not above blackmail or manipulation to get my way.” Stiles said grinning evilly at Peter. There was something in the boy’s expression that made Peter’s hackles rise.

 

“So, I really have no choice in this, do I?” Peter asked a bit sharply. Stiles cocked a brow at his tone before returning to whatever it was he was writing.

 

“Not really.” The mage said shrugging. Peter sighed and put the laptop back on the table before cracking his neck.

 

“Alright. Let’s try it.” He said before he could change his mind. He tried to stand but was pushed down by an intense pulse of magic as Stiles placed the piece of paper on his chest. His breath caught, and he struggled to stay lucid as magic surged from Stiles into his heart and through his veins. His eyes were wide as he looked up to Stiles’ glowing ones.

 

“So glad you agreed.” Stiles said with nearly manic glee as another push of magic flooded Peter’s system. His wolf howled and clawed inside of him at the flood of power. He could feel the shift deep in his bones and the power that thrummed in his blood as his body contorted itself. The last things he remembered before passing out were glowing orange eyes and the smell of electricity.

 

\---

 

A soft brass melody rang loudly in Peter’s ears as he regained consciousness. Smells mingled and merged together all around him and he couldn’t distinguish one from another. He groaned as he tried to sit up only to be pulled down by the heft in his bones. It felt like there were weights tied to every ligament and joint in his body and an unfamiliar ache was slowly seeping into the back of his skull. He felt a current not unlike electricity buzzing through him in an endless route.

 

Peter let out another groan as he opened his eyes. Everything was wrong. The colors too bright, the details too sharp. He whined sharply as another note rang out and seemed to beat around in his skull. The music stopped abruptly but the echo in Peter’s eardrums was almost maddening.

 

“Sorry.” He heard someone whisper. He cracked an eye open just enough to see Stiles sitting on the coffee table holding his battered horn. “I uh, I play music when I feel jittery. It calms me down, but I guess I forgot how hyper focused my magic is. I mean it’s bad enough that everything is in permanent high definition for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. You know, cause of the wolfy powers and stuff?” Peter huffed and winced as he brought a hand to rest on the back of his head.

 

“You mean this is what you feel all the time? Shouldn’t you have warned me about this before?” Peter grumbled as he rubbed his face with his other hand.

 

“You get used to it after a while.” The boy explained quietly as he packed his trombone back into its case. When he was done he turned back towards Peter and leaned towards him a little. “So, other than the shell shock of ultra HD, how do you feel? Like, do you feel more powerful at all?” Stiles asked as he reached out almost as if he wanted to touch Peter.

 

Peter thought for a moment and tried to reach for his wolf then let out a gasp as he realized his wolf was all around. The magic that was crackling under his skin and the sharpness of the world around him were nothing compared to the raw feeling of this intense connection. Peter’s eyes snapped open and he ignored the pain as he scrutinized his hands. He hadn’t shifted.

 

“H-how did you _do_ that?” He asked the boy in amazement.

 

“I don’t know. I just followed the instructions?” Stiles said as he shrugged a little. Peter shook his head and sat up a little.

 

“No, I mean _how_ did you do it? This kind of magic is complex at best and damn near impossible at worst. I’ve known fully trained mages and centuries old druids who couldn’t fully bind a man to his wolf. Especially an omega. And yet…” Peter trailed off as he reached for Stiles hand. A jolt of electricity passed between them and Peter was surprised that the feeling was almost pleasant along the new connection. He gazed into molten honey eyes and wondered just how much he’d underestimated his young companion.

 

Stiles tightened his grip on Peter’s hand and rubbed his neck with his other as a blush worked its way quickly across his skin. Peter thanked this new capacity for the ability to truly see how beautifully the boy’s pale skin turned rosy.

 

“I guess that’s why the alpha pack wants me so bad.” Stiles said with a sheepish smile. Peter resisted the urge to growl at the thought of another wolf wanting this enchanting boy. This powerful, beautiful, sarcastic little mage.

 

_Wait. What?_

 

His grip tightened for a moment before Peter let go of the mage. Stiles’ face fell a bit and Peter could see his hands begin to twitch as he went to rifle through his papers. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the contact as well.

 

Something growled from deep within Peter’s brain and it took a few moments before he recognized the low timber of his wolf resonating through his body just under the skin.

 

_Mine_

 

Peter gasped and shot up from the couch, knocking over a stack of books in the process. Stiles’ head snapped towards him but whatever smart remark he’d been ready to shout seemed to die on his tongue.

 

“Peter? Are you alright, man?” Stiles asked as he reached to touch Peter’s shoulder. Peter backed away sharply and fought a whine as Stiles’ eyes widened and his scent soured with worry. He wanted nothing more than to jump on the boy and chase that nasty smell away. Knowing he’d caused the scent only made it worse. His nose twitched as he started to distinguish other smells around him.

 

The smell of _sugar-blood-leather-honey_ surrounded him, and his chest burned knowing that Stiles’ scent was mixed so thoroughly with that of someone else’s. Three someone else’s. The logical side of him knew that it was just Stiles’ roommates but something dark twisted in his gut knowing that his mage had been touched, _scented_ , by another.

 

His mage.

 

_His_.

 

“Peter?” Stiles’ pitch had raised a bit and Peter realized he’d been growling. He could feel his nails sharpening and the taste of copper filled his mouth as his fangs sliced the insides of his cheeks. “Dude, what’s going-”

 

“Run.” Peter gritted out as he clenched his burning eyes shut and balled his hand at his sides. “I-I need to run. I need to go.” He tried to explain but the burning, twisting feeling was getting worse the longer he stood there. He heard the rabbiting of Stiles’ heart and clenched his fists tighter, so he wouldn’t do something stupid like claim the boy right there.

 

_Claim. Mine._

Peter growled lowly and snatched his jacket off the back of the couch and nearly ran to the door.

 

“W-wait!” Stiles’ panicked voice caught the man as he reached for the door knob. He paused, crushing the metal in his grip as the boy rushed over to him. He jerked away again as a warm hand barely settled on his shoulder.

 

“Peter? What’s going on? Are you okay?” The sound of the boy’s alarm hurt Peter’s ears and he didn’t fight his whine this time. Peter took as deep of a breath as he dared and slowly opened his eyes. He could feel them burning with the shift that was rattling in his bones. He looked to Stiles, took in the sight of panic blown eyes and a lightly heaving chest, and whined again.

 

“I just need- I need to go. Run. Not away.” Peter tried to make his words make sense, but the burning possessiveness and the heft of his shift were clouding his mind. “I’m still an Omega. The wolf. Bound. It’s too much.” Peter shook his head to try to clear it, but the shift was already beginning deep in his bones and a howl was pressing roughly at the back of his throat.

 

“Too much.” Peter growled out and was relieved when Stiles’ seemed to understand.

 

“O-okay man, you go do what you have to. Just-just be careful. Please.” Peter’s stomach twisted sharply at the pleading in the boy’s eyes and he wrenched the door open and ran out of the building as fast as he could.

 

The pain began in the back of his head as Peter sprinted through a secluded marsh area. It was sharp and pierced through his skull causing his knees to buckle under him. Peter let out a low agonized wail as he gripped his head. The pain quickly burned throughout his body and only grew in intensity.

 

Fear gripped Peter’s mind as he felt the first bones snap within him soon followed by his muscles pulling and tearing as his body reformed itself. He couldn’t stop the screams or wails as his skin was torn and healed over his new form. The worst was when he _couldn’t_ scream. His diaphragm, throat, and heart all clenching tight to fit into the new molding. His world melted into black and white while his jaw snapped in half to elongate into a long furry muzzle.

 

After what felt like hours of pain and restructuring, Peter panted heavily and flexed each muscle of his new body slowly. He growled in pride of his new shift and began sniffing around him, scenting his own pain.

 

_“The first full shift is the worse.”_ Peter recalled his mother’s words from when he was a child. “ _You get better at it over time.”_

 

Peter’s stomach lurched in agony as he thought of his family.

 

His _pack._

 

Peter threw his head back and let out a long, mournful howl before turning tail and running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I keep having to re-write these chapters because my mind is a dark, twisted place and I just want this story to be happy damn it!


	6. Home Is Where We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hale Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All character belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

Peter crouched low and prepared to pounce on the small hare that bounded its way around the bank of a river. His eyes tracked the small ball of fur’s movement across a log and he sprinted forward to jump on it before it could get too far away.

 

(If he were in a logical mindset at the time, perhaps he would have thought it through first.)

 

Peter yowled as the log snapped under his weight and he and his prey both fell into the water below. He growled and tried to swim to the bank, but the current was just this side of disabling. Peter whined at his helplessness and fought to keep his muzzle above the water. After another failed attempt at reaching safety the wolf let out a quiet whimper and resigned himself to floating downstream until the current died down.

 

Peter tired quickly from the fight to keep upright. He could barely struggle when he was being hefted out of the water and into a small fishing boat. He growled low and threatening but could do little else as someone placed a warm blanket over his soaked fur.

 

“It’s alright Peter, Stiles sent me. I’ve got you.” Peter whined softly at the low timbre and the calming scent of rain and soft linens. He shifted his head slightly to get a look at the aging man who’d saved him and gave a little ‘woof’ of thanks. John grinned at him and patted his shoulder before bringing the small engine to life and heading down the river.

 

“Let’s get you back to Stiles, yeah?” He said as he ran an old towel over the fur of the exhausted wolf. Peter whined softly at the mention of the mage. He’d helped Peter, had given him strength, power, and Peter had run off like a scared little runt at the thought of wanting the boy. John gave him a small, empathetic smile before patting his shoulder again and pulling out his phone. (Peter took a moment to huff at the ancient Nokia.)

 

“I found him.” John said in a relieved tone after the call connected. Peter could hear a sigh of relief from the other end.

 

“Thank God.” He heard Stiles say quietly. “Is he okay?”

 

“He’s a little worse for wear and soaked to the bone, but he’s going to be fine.” John said as he gently patted Peter’s head. Peter closed his eyes and drifted off slowly as he listened to the quiet conversation.

 

_I’m going to be fine._

 

\---

 

Peter groaned lowly as he woke. His head was rushing, and he could feel the pulse of his wolf just below his skin. He stifled another groan as he stretched out his limbs on the soft surface he laid on. Breathing deeply, Peter let out a rumble of happiness as he found himself surrounded by a cloud of familiar scents.

 

Rain, linen, honey and electricity wrapped around the soothing scent of cedar wood and lilac. Peter’s wolf keened softly as he registered the last scent.

 

_She’s always smelled like that…._

 

_Wait…_

Peter shot up straight as a rod and whipped his head around the dark room until his eyes stuck to the sleeping figure on a large chair.

 

“Cora…” The name came out as a breathy sound. Peter’s hands shook as he reached for his niece. His stomach turned, and he let out a pleading whine as he felt the warm flesh under his fingertips.

 

“Cora?” Peter repeated, questioning if she was truly there. His heart stuttered, and his breath caught as the younger wolf’s eyes fluttered open and rested on his.

 

“Peter.” She whined. It was only a moment before Peter had the girl out of the chair and wrapped firmly in his arms. He sniffled a bit and fought back a sob as he clung to her shoving his face in her neck to inhale her scent deeply and place his own on her. Cora whined again and didn’t bother fighting her own sob as she returned the gesture, trembling against her uncle. Peter pulled her back towards the couch he’d been sleeping on and they slumped onto the cushions in a heap of whimpers and tears.

 

“Cora.” Peter breathed out again. He pulled the girl from his chest and held her forehead firmly against his.

 

“How did you find me?” he asked both in relief and true curiosity. She let out a sad huff of laughter and swallowed.

 

“Stiles found _me._ ” She explained closing her eyes. “He somehow got my number and called me to help find you. You’ve been missing almost a week, Peter.”

 

Peter felt painful guilt at the worry that rolled off his niece. The worry she must have felt when she got the call from Stiles.

 

“I missed you so much.” Cora sobbed as she pulled away slightly to look her uncle in the eye. Peter’s face trembled as he took in the sight of her. Dark circles sunk deep under her eyes and her face, which had always held a youthful chub, had thinned to an almost frightening degree. Her skin was pale and drawn tight to her face.

 

“What happened to you?” Peter asked in a whisper as he ran his fingers lightly over her face. Cora clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.

 

“It’s nothing.” She whispered back, unwilling to open her eyes. What had seemed like emotional trembling, Peter realized as he touched the clammy skin of her face, had been shivering. Peter growled lowly and tilted her chin up.

 

“What. Happened.” Peter growled out. He could feel his wolf shifting and burning under his skin at the thought of his niece in pain. The wrecked sob that left the girl wrenched Peter’s heart in every direction. He let out another growl and rested his forehead gently against hers.

 

“M-mom.” Cora stuttered out before a broken sob cut her off. She cried out and burrowed her face into Peter’s chest. Anger flooded through him at the thought of his sister doing anything to harm Cora.

 

_Her own daughter._

“I-I’m an omega, Peter.” Cora whined out. “About a month after you left, Mom, she just went crazy.” She gasped out in between sobs. Peter held her firmly to his chest and set to a slight rocking motion. After a few moments of sobbing Cora continued.

 

“Th-this coven of witches came into the territory and threatened to destroy our pack. Mom sent Laura and Derek after them and they killed the witches, but Derek got hurt. Badly. They tore into him and tied his wolf, so he couldn’t heal. He’s alive, but…” Cora paused her recollections to let out a silent sob.

 

Peter felt like choking on the sadness that drifted from his niece and mingled with his own. Derek might not have been a favorite of Peter’s but the thought of someone harming his family, pack or not, set a fire inside him that burned bright with anger.

 

“Mom lost it.” She continued after a deep breath. “She said it was your fault he got hurt. She said that if you’d still been there then Derek wouldn’t have had to fight.”

 

“But far be it from her to fight for herself.” Peter growled out as he clung to the girl tighter. She responded in kind with a growl of her own. They both sat there seething for a while before Cora swallowed a big gulp of air and continued again.

 

“Anyway, one night, about two weeks ago, I got woken up by some noises. Mom was talking to someone outside and I heard her mentioning your name, so I went to see what was going on.” Peter loosened his grip to allow Cora to look him in the eye.

 

“It was hunters. And, after what I heard, I ran. I couldn’t stay there. Not with that backstabbing bitch. Not after what she did.” She said angrily. Peter’s face scrunched up in momentary confusion as Cora pulled away and looked down at her lap.

 

“Mom’s put a bounty out for you. She told them you’d gone feral and that you were the one who sent the witches in the first place.”

 

_What?_

“What?!” Peter roared as he jumped up from the couch. He could feel his face start to morph as his wolf, enraged, shoved towards the surface. The shift was interrupted by a loud bang from another room and both Hales snapped their heads towards the doorway just in time to see a sleep-rumpled Stiles charge into the room.

 

His hair was a mess and his face was swollen with sleep, but his expression was set in an angered manner and his eyes were glowing a brilliant orange hue in the darkness of the room. Peter felt something burn low in his gut at the sharp scent of danger as the air around the mage seemed to crackle with electricity.

 

“What happened?” The mage asked as his eyes zeroed in on the wolves. Peter felt a pleasant full body shiver at the gravelly demand in the boy’s voice and the fire in his gut burned a little brighter.

 

“I was just explaining everything to Peter.” Cora explained as she stood from the couch and wiped at her face. The boy’s eyes softened and dimmed to their natural whisky color. A look of understanding and sympathy washed over his features. He let out a soft puff of air and walked over to flick on a dim lamp.

 

“You okay Toto?” Stiles asked as he placed one of his large hands on Cora’s upper back and looked at her with worry. Peter caught a small twitch in Cora’s frown at the nickname and she nodded minutely. Stiles grinned and hugged her lightly before looking to Peter.

 

“How about you Cujo? Doing alright?” Stiles asked with a small smirk. Peter huffed and felt his previous anger seep away at the boy’s expression.

 

“I’m alive.” Peter explained with a smirk of his own. “One more dog joke, and you won’t be.” He said grinning with too sharp fangs and a flash of his eyes. In unison, Cora and Stiles both snorted a laugh and rolled their eyes at the older wolf.

 

Peter couldn’t help the genuine grin.

 

He stared fondly at the pair for a moment and relaxed. Something settled in him to see the two people he cared about most getting along, even at his own expense. Stiles caught the look and flushed. He cleared his throat and looked away to the kitchen quickly.

 

“I’ll get us some food, you must be starving.” At the mention of food, Peter’s stomach roared something savage and the three shared a quiet chuckle.

 

\---

 

After a few (a lot of) sandwiches split between the three of them, Cora turned to her uncle.

 

“So, Stiles tells me you’re going after the alpha pack.” She said nonchalantly, but Peter could almost taste her anger and nearly choked on the last bit of his sandwich. He swallowed slowly and looked to Stiles, who shoved the last of his food in his mouth and shrugged. Peter rolled his eyes at the boy and looked back at Cora.

 

“Yes, I couldn’t find it in myself to turn him down.” He said grinning wickedly and flashing his eyes at her. She grinned back just a viciously before leaning over the table towards Stiles.

 

“Need any help?” She asked baring her fangs and flashing bright gold eyes to the mage.

 

She received a cocked brow and a soft flash of orange before Stiles’ face began to nearly split with manic glee.

 

“First the alphas, then the hunters.” He replied with a dark tone.

 

Peter felt his wolf curl up in savage pleasure knowing that he had this sheer force of nature on his side.

 

_I’m going to be fine._


	7. We're Off To See The Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I need to brighten the shit out of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters belong to their respective owners. (I'm just borrowing them for a bit.)

John woke in the early morning with the intent of going out to start on his small field, but his plans were cut short when he entered his living room. He was only slightly surprised to see his son and his two werewolf friends passed out around a giant mass of papers and books on the coffee table. John chuckled to himself and shook his head.

 

After starting a pot of coffee and downing half of it he began pulling eggs and bacon from the fridge to start breakfast for his guests. As he began cooking, John shook his head again. His son was just like his late wife.

 

She’d always been big in the supernatural community and was always there for anyone in need. Especially werewolves. He hummed to himself and continued cooking, smiling at the memory of his wife, flowing with magic and grace as she danced around the kitchen with a young Stiles on her hip.

 

His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He heard rustling from the living room as he passed by. He could see Stiles bolt up with a page stuck to his face and couldn’t help the snort.

 

“I brought doughnuts.” Erica said as she strutted past John into the large farmhouse, dropping her things by the hall closet. Boyd rolled his eyes behind her and handed the box to John.

 

“And a good morning to you too, Erica.” John mumbled as he shared a look with the dark-skinned man.

 

“I don’t know how you do it, son.” John said as he took the box and sighed in the direction of the blonde hurricane. Boyd huffed in amusement and shrugged.

 

“Just lucky I guess.” He said grinning. The older man smirked at the kid and motioned for him to enter, then waited as the youngest pulled up the rear, fighting with his scarf.

 

“Kid, it’s a hundred degrees.” John said as the boy entered the house. Isaac smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. John shook his head and shooed the boy to the living room as he headed to the kitchen to finish cooking, unsurprised to see that Boyd was already in there milling away at the stove in John's absence.

 

Meanwhile in the living room, both wolves shot to attention as they registered strangers in the area. While Cora was trying to assess the newcomers, Peter let out a low groan.

 

“You guys again.” He said relaxing. Erica’s eyes were needle sharp as she glared at the man.

 

“Yes, us again.” Erica said with a mocking sweetness to her tone before turning to Stiles and putting her hands on her hips. “You’re planning something, I know it.” She said to the mage.

 

“What? No way.” Stiles scoffed and gestured wildly. Both Hales held in a groan at the boy. Erica clicked her tongue and folder her arms over her chest.

 

“C’mon, Batman, I want in.” She said with a pointed look.

 

“We all do.” Isaac said from his spot leaning against the wall. Stiles paled a bit and shuffled his feet as Erica tapped hers.

 

“Well?” She said impatiently. Stiles glanced pleadingly to Peter who shook his head.

 

“It’s your fight, your call.” The man explained holding his hands up in a pacifying manner. Erica looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a small smile in thanks that contrasted greatly with the grimace the mage sent his way. Peter shrugged and stood closer to Cora. As much as he wanted to help the boy who’d become so dear to him, it _was_ Stiles’ call.

 

“We may not be supernaturally enhanced like the rest of you, but we’re your family, son. We’re here to help.” John said as he entered the living room with Boyd in tow. Peter looked back over to Stiles as the smell of salt and love permeated the air. The mage looked around the room with a fond smile.

 

“I love you guys.” He whispered to the room at large.

 

“So?” Erica said with a twitch to her lips. Stiles sniffled a bit and nodded with a grin. Peter was surprised to be pulled into a group hug amongst the humans, while Cora seemed to relax at the tactility. Peter sighed at the group and shook his head.

 

_Family, huh?_

 

\---

 

The plan, after it had been simplified for the non-supernaturally inclined amongst the little ragtag ensemble, Peter had to admit, was a good one.

 

Stiles would lead the alphas to a warehouse that John was renting from a friend on the outskirts of New Orleans. Isaac, who was oddly well versed in explosives, would set off some sort of smoke bomb to set off the sprinklers which would be pre-filled with a concoction that Erica and Stiles were working on to draw out the alphas’ powers enough for Stiles to take them away. After that, Boyd, Peter, and Cora would take the alphas’ out with help from Stiles’ (impressive) magic and John’s (equally impressive) gun collection.

 

“Alright.” Stiles said after pocketing his phone and walking back into the living room. “I’m going to go see Lydia about some wolfsbane for these bullets.” He explained as he tapped the couch where John sat cleaning his guns.

 

“Ooh. Tell her I said 'hi'.” Erica piped up from the kitchen where she was stirring a pot of something. Peter would be hard pressed to explain just how bad it smelled. Cora stood next to him on the farthest wall with the sleeve of her sweater covering her nose.

 

“I will, Catwoman.” Stiles shot back as he picked up his car keys and slid on his glasses. “You guys want to come with?” He asked the wolves, sympathy etched into his face.

 

“Yes.” Cora said quickly as she all but ran from the house.

 

Peter didn’t blame her.

 

\---

 

“So, who’s Lydia?” Cora asked from where she was lounged in the back seat of Stiles’ jeep. She took a drink from her Slurpee that Stiles had insisted was necessary. The boy took a drink from his own. Peter had to fight his reflex to grab the wheel when the mage’s hand left it. It was bad enough that this thing was a death trap on wheels, but the boy’s driving was surely going to at least injure one of them soon.

 

“Friend of mine.” Stiles answered shrugging. “We grew up together, she’s a fucking genius and knows a lot more about plants and how to use them than I do.”

 

Peter zoned in on the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat as he spoke about his friend and felt ugly jealousy curl behind his ribs. Before he could do anything stupid (i.e., marking the boy up like a god damned tree) Cora spoke again, obviously catching on to her uncle’s feelings.

 

“So, just a friend?” She asked suggestively. Stiles let out a bark of laughter and shook his head.

 

“Yes, _just_ a friend.” He said. “I used to have a massive crush on her though. Thought she was going to be my wife and we would have like, twelve kids and a white picket fence.” Peter internally cringed at the wistful tone.

 

“So, what? Did you guys break it off or something?” Cora asked with forged uninterest. Peter took note as the mage’s heart skipped again while he laughed a bubbly little thing that made Peter’s heart hurt.

 

God damn Cora.

 

“Nah, we were never together. Good thing, too.” He said laughing a little more as he took another sip of his drink. The syrup dyed his already plush pink lips a tempting shade of red and Peter had to fight to listen to the conversation as the boy began to gnaw at the straw.

 

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Cora asked leaning forward in her seat, hungry for something other than supernatural talk.

 

“When we got to high school we realized we weren’t each other’s body type.” Stiles answered, smirking into the rearview mirror at Cora.

 

_Wait._

“So, you’re gay?” Cora asked grinning.

 

Peter would normally snipe something sassy at her about the smugness rolling off her at finding some information to lord over him, but he was too busy trying to look uninterested while holding his breath for the answer. Because, what if he wasn’t? Peter’s wolf whined at the thought of not having the boy.

 

The answering bout of giggles from the boy only served to make Peter more nervous.

 

“Flaming, babe.”

 

God bless Cora.

 

“That’s not a problem is it?” The boy asked, tone suddenly going anxious. He looked over to Peter quickly then back in the rearview mirror as his heart picked up speed and his scent bled sour.

 

“Not at all.” Both Hales said in unison with matching satisfaction. Stiles either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he let out a loud sigh of relief.

 

“Thank fuck, because I think I really like you guys.” He said smiling to himself. Peter felt his nerves bleed out of him as he looked over to the beautiful little mage.

 

_I think I love you._

 

\---

 

“Hiya Batman.” Came a smooth feminine voice as they walked into what looked like a general store and a giant greenhouse had a child. A stunning redhead came out of the back of the shop area dressed in a simple green dress. Stiles’ eyes lit up and they shared a grin that made Peter have to remind himself that they were just friends.

 

“Hello, my dear Poison Ivy. How are you goddess?” The mage asked as he hugged the woman tightly. She pulled away from him with an exaggerated pout.

 

“I’d be better if my best friend would see it in his heart to stop by every once in a while.” She said pouting more. “It gets lonely out here in the bayou.”

 

Stiles laughed a little and hugged the woman again before she pulled away to grab his Slurpee and began drinking from the mangled straw. Peter’s stomach soured at the closeness. Cora cleared her throat and stepped around Stiles to hold her hand out to the woman.

 

“Hi, I’m Cora. This is my uncle Peter.” She said nudging her head in Peter’s direction. Peter gave a tight smile and a pathetic little wave, not trusting himself to get any closer to the woman without tearing her apart. The woman narrowed her eyes slightly at Peter before a look of dawning flew across her features and she grinned, shoving the Slurpee back at Stiles and taking Cora’s hand.

 

“I’m Lydia. How can I help you today?” She said batting her lashes at Cora. Peter almost called Cora out on the stutter in her heart, but he was busy edging his way over to Stiles. He hated how the scent of the woman’s magic clung to his boy.

 

“We need wolfsbane, Ivy, and lots of it.” Stiles said gesturing towards the plants that were making Peter’s nose itch. Lydia quirked an eyebrow and stared at Stiles for a moment before nodding.

 

“Alright, pick your poison.” She said walking towards said plants.

 

“Literally.” Cora said smirking when Lydia shot her a humorous grin.

 

\---

 

An hour or so later, the quartet found themselves done loading up the back of the jeep, while Stiles was helping Cora pick out some snacks from the shelves, Lydia seemed to materialize right next to Peter. He barely held in a flinch when he noticed her presence.

 

“Are you going to tell him?” Lydia asked nodding towards the young mage. Peter cocked an eyebrow at the woman.

 

“Tell him what?” Peter asked looking to the trinkets next to him, feigning ignorance. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having with the woman. As a matter of fact, he didn’t want to have _any_ conversation with the woman. Especially not when she smelled like death to the touch. When he looked back at Lydia, he was met with a deadpan glare.

 

“If you don’t, I will. He deserves to know. Especially with how his aura pulses when he’s around you.” She said looking him dead in the eye. Peter’s face went slack as he processed that information.

 

“His-”

 

“You may be meant,” She cut him off as a thick, powerful haze began to settle around them. “but I swear to any God who dares to listen, wolf, that if you _ever_ hurt him, there’s no force on Earth that would stop me from flaying you slowly, pumping you full of any and all poisons I can find, and throwing your ass in a fire to burn alive.” The sheer level of intensity and power that seeped from the woman was enough to make his wolf whimper.

 

“Are we clear?” She asked glaring bloody murder into his eyes. Peter swallowed thickly and nodded sharply.

 

“Perfectly.” He responded quietly. Suddenly the haze was gone, and the air was fresh again.

 

“Good, I think we’ll get along great.” Lydia said with a sweet smile as she wrapped her arm around Peter’s causing him to fight the urge to rip it away.

 

“Now,” she said leaning her head in conspiratorially. “Is your niece single?”

 

Peter cocked a brow and almost missed the look of hope in the woman’s eyes and the attraction in her scent. The exact same scent as Cora's. An evil grin nearly split his face in two.

 

“Oh, we’ll get along just fine.”


End file.
